


Now and Later

by i_amtheoutlaw



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cussing, Drug Use, F/M, Hipsters, M/M, Underage Drinking, art student merlin, arthur's poor Merlin's rich, burn-outs, merlin has huge gauges, straight boy arthur, trigger warnings: derogatory homosexual terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: Story of their lives: Arthur and Merlin are best friends. Until they're not.**AU modern setting.





	Now and Later

You’ll come to find that Arthur’s house was a party house every weekend, because Merlin complained that his first year of college was stressing him out, and he must find time to free his mind (“For crying out loud, you’re in art school!” Arthur never forgets to point out). Like every other Saturday, Lance sat on the floor by the coffee table, and was trying to avoid all the rings and dents in the wood as he rolled up. Gwen and Merlin sang along to La Roux while leaning against the makeshift bar in the corner; an Arthur original (composite of wooden boxes, mirrors, and old liquor bottles that Merlin claims isn’t real art). Arthur lounged with a beer in his hand upon the futon, and glanced heavenward whenever Merlin hit a high note. Merlin and Gwen were drinking crap vodka, because Arthur was a cheapskate and the only one with a fake ID. Although, somehow, he and Lance mysteriously had all their fancy, exotic beers with pretty pictures on the label.

All you must do is watch them for a mere five seconds to know Merlin and Arthur should never be allowed in the same room as each other. Well, because Merlin’s idea of a perfect day involves locking himself up in his bedroom, and backcombing his dreads as he jams out to Bassnectar. Whereas Arthur is much more outgoing, and he can’t seem to go two seconds without an accompaniment of friends flocking around. Also, Arthur is a _total_ hipster (“no, I’m not, Merlin.” 

“Arthur, you wear capris!”), and every article of clothing Merlin owns is from Goodwill.

(“Which doesn’t make you any less of a hipster, _Mer_ lin! You’re the one who wears scarves!”). Then there’s the fact that they both are the biggest know-it-all’s in the history of ever, and neither of them know how to lose a fight. Their biggest disagreements as of late seem to revolve around religion. You see, Arthur believes in aliens (“Higher power, _Mer_ lin, not aliens!” 

“Oh, like angels?” 

“Nothing like angels, you idiot!”) and Merlin claims to be part of the Golden Dawn, owns about ten decks of tarot cards, an alter covered with dripping wax candles, and every piece Dr. John Dee ever wrote. You put them in front of a fifty-two-inch screen on Friday at seven-o-clock (when the show _Ancient Aliens_ comes on) and all hell would break loose. They would sit together on the couch. Merlin laid back with his legs across Arthur (who will sit straight up because, “you can’t fully pay attention while lying down, _Mer_ lin!”), and manage to watch the first five minutes in peace. Then the murmuring would start: 

“No, that’s completely wrong,” Merlin would claim. 

“Shut up, _Mer_ lin.” 

“No. No. Angels did that.” 

“Shut it, Merlin.” 

“Are you seriously trying to tell me you believe this crap?” 

“SHUT YOUR STUPID MOUTH, BITCH!” 

And that’s on a good night. They wouldn’t have called that a fight even. 

No, but Arthur and Merlin do fight . . . oh, how they fought. Every fight they’ve ever had went about the same way though; even so much that Gwen and most of their other friends already know what’s going to happen before it does. No one ever starts their fights (at least neither of them have ever admitted to starting a fight), but however they initiate, they escalate quickly. Usually it goes like this:

“Screw you, Arthur.” 

Then Arthur would stand up and break something (mostly opts for smashing glass objects or chopping random surfaces with one of his many machetes), and Merlin would flip out and be like, “well, what is wrong with you? Huh? Was that really necessary?” Then Arthur would think it’s a good time to get up in Merlin’s face (which it’s never a bright idea to get up in Merlin’s face) and yell. Next comes Merlin’s pouting. “Back off, crazy, I’m out this hell hole,” he’d say as he stomps away dramatically, and Arthur would freak out:

“Just where do you think you’re going?” he’d scream, willing himself not to chase after the skinny brat. Merlin would ignore him and stomp up the steps. Though Arthur, in all Gwen’s experiences of watching them fight, has never once let Merlin make it up the stairs (at least without a battle first). Arthur would sprint up ahead of Merlin, punch the wall and say, “you’re not going anywhere, you crybaby!” 

Merlin would laugh and roll his eyes, saying something like, “you wish you could stop me,” which, of course, drives Arthur unstably mad. That’s usually the time the punching starts. Merlin always punches Arthur first (or tries to rip out his oh-so-precious blonde locks), and sometimes manages a quick two-piece until Arthur slams Merlin into the nearest wall, which hurts Merlin way more than his punches do Arthur. Then they would both feel bad, and Arthur would hold Merlin and say he’s sorry, and they would go back down stairs with bruises all over and start taking shots together. It’s very unhealthy. 

Nevertheless, Arthur is terrible (honestly unbearable) without Merlin. The best example of Arthur’s complete instability without his yin to lean on happened when they were sixteen . . . 

Lance (along with all of Arthur’s other friends) had always thought Merlin and Arthur should stop hanging out (like, they’d complained about it every day for years; with no shame in the fact that Merlin had always been standing right there). Until the two had had a major argument and wouldn’t talk to one another for a year. In which Arthur managed to get four—different yet equally stupid—tattoos of ice cream cones, gain fifty pounds, and get locked in boy school for the last six months. Merlin had been waiting to pick up Arthur upon his release, under the pretense of bragging about his new hatchback Honda Civic. Although, unknown to most, Merlin hadn’t been much better in the absence of his yang. He’d met some girl named Freya, started smoking meth, and decided to dye his hair blonde. So, when Merlin had come back around, even with the tips of his hair still bleached, everybody felt like things were finally back to normal. 

The only problem now (despite that they should never be allowed in the same room as one another, nor should they be apart ever) is the fact that Merlin and Arthur aren’t capital “T” together. Arthur’s straight (as a rainbow slinky says Gwen) and Merlin’s pansexual; thus, he would never date Arthur, because Arthur is a huge bag of dick. Merlin also perpetually accuses Arthur of being homophobic. However, Arthur usually replies with something along the lines of, “how can I be homophobic and basically live with a guy who’s a total whore for it up the butt?” 

Then Merlin would explain how he’s a _top_ , and Arthur would spit whatever he’d been drinking out of his nose, and say, “there is no way another dude would choose to have your skinny ass _on top_ of them.” 

Gwen and Merlin were only on their second shot when Merlin’s favorite song came on – _I’m Not Your Toy._ They both squealed, and Merlin quickly poured them each a third. Arthur secretly loved this song too, Merlin knew, so he poured an extra one and passed it along. At the last chorus, they all clanked their shot glasses together and drank. 

After their fourth, Merlin decided he’d had just about enough of the light liquor. Merlin doesn’t usually drink light stuff, because he’s convinced it causes hangovers. Arthur is not convinced. He blames Merlin’s petite frame (yes, he uses the word petite even though Merlin is like five feet taller than him). Merlin tugged Gwen by the arm, up the stairs, and out the back door. They made their way across the crunchy grass—avoiding all the random holes dug by the rabid children—and over to an erratic pile of logs and firewood stacked higher than Merlin’s head. Arthur lives with his Aunt Nimueh and her boyfriend, Agravaine. They have three nasty little kids who Merlin loves to death (again, Arthur is not convinced. He swears all three are Lucifer’s demons sent up straight from the fiery pit of Hell). Arthur works for Agravaine, who owns a tree service called Monkey’s (“and they look like a bunch of monkeys, too,” Merlin never forgets to point out).

Merlin strolled (pranced) with Gwen over to his secret stash of liquor (if Arthur asks, this doesn’t exist) hidden in the back of the pile, in between some wood (yes, Merlin has a stash of whiskey in a rotten piece of wood, okay?). After a minute of deliberation, they chose a half-empty fifth of _Wild Turkey 101_. Merlin, using the skills Arthur had taught him on their first camping trip, started a fire. They plopped down near the heat and drank straight from the bottle. 

Merlin had known Gwen for longer than he’d known Arthur, technically, because she’d ran around with Merlin’s friends--the ones who hadn’t been friends with Arthur’s friends--in middle school. Although they’d never really hung out until after Merlin and Arthur had their little break up (“Gwen! It wasn’t a freaking break up!”) and Merlin had come back around to find that Gwen (who was frankly always a good little girl) had taken up with bad boy Lance. Gwen and Merlin had instantly clicked, and started sneaking away from the boys to get drunker and eat ice cream in peace. 

Arthur and Merlin had met in seventh grade, and Merlin had hated Arthur - like really, truly hadn’t liked him one bit. Arthur had been super immature, liked to ride BMX bikes, and already smoked weed. Whereas Merlin had thought himself grown, read for fun, and never even tried a sip of alcohol. Arthur had always “tagged” his name on Merlin’s stuff (including his favorite bag), and Merlin would get in trouble for trying to start a fight with him during quiet time. It’d stayed that way for two more years. 

Then they’d stumbled upon a revelation in ninth grade. They both really, really liked sleeping in the woods all night and lighting couches on fire. You see, what had happened was, Lance brought Merlin to his first party, which happened to be in the woods (because where else can a bunch of teenagers’ party?). After Merlin had drank his first few shots, he’d been strip-naked shit faced. Somehow Merlin had ended up only in his boxers—in the middle of fall, at night—prancing around random paths in the woods. That of course had been when he’d stumbled into Arthur peeing on a tree. Arthur had smiled and joked, saying, “looks like Mr. Stick-up-his-butt finally came out to play.” Merlin smiled back and laughed, because he’d been so smashed, and Arthur’s face had suddenly looked a lot less revolting and a lot cuter. Then Arthur took Merlin by the arm, helped him locate his lost clothing, and dragged him to the fire so they could warm up. Later, Arthur introduced Merlin to his older friends, Percy and Leo. The four of them had decided it would be a good idea to locate the random couch they jumped over in their BMX tricks and set it on top the fire. It had been a horrible idea, but they’d watched it burn for hours, until someone had seen the smoke from the road and called the fire department (this had also been Merlin’s first time running and succeeding in hiding from the police). After that, Arthur and Merlin had been the best of friends until their argument in sophomore year. 

Well. There had been one other hiccup in their relationship that no one besides Arthur and Merlin themselves know about (and aren’t likely to share ever). When fall had turned into winter they all started partying at Leo’s mom’s apartment. She had never been there much and Merlin learned that it was a lot easier to get drunk inside than it was outside. Arthur learned that Merlin was a flaming boy-kisser. 

Arthur had left Merlin alone (for like, _five_ seconds, okay?) to go to McDonalds. In the meantime, Merlin had decided that this boy sitting next to him on the couch had lips, and they’d looked really, really tasty. So, Merlin had kissed the boy and the boy had kissed back—a lot—and they’d made their way to Leo’s bed. Merlin had straddled him, and it’d been the most amazing thing Merlin had ever felt. Until Arthur had decided to burst through the door to find his best friend sucking and grinding on another male. The boy under Merlin had freaked out at the intrusion, pushed Merlin off him, and hid in the closet (no, literally). Once Arthur had finished blinking stupidly, he’d decided to swing the door shut and started loudly singing _Postal Service_ songs from the other side. Then Merlin (who must have been drunker than he’d thought) had laid back into the mattress, listened to Arthur’s cracking voice, and drifted off to sleep. 

Arthur hadn’t talked to Merlin for a month after that, although he’d talked to his other friends—including the closet boy that Merlin could never remember the name of—everyday. So, Merlin had been extremely pissed off (though he’d still done things to make himself fit in better with Arthur’s group of friends; like purchasing skinny jeans and gauging his ears). Then Arthur had seen Merlin at the mall one day and decided (for some Crazy Arthur Reason) that the best way to reignite their friendship was to follow him into Sear’s dressing rooms. Merlin had been clad only in boxers, about to try on an outfit, when Arthur broke the changing room door with a fierce kick, shoved Merlin against the mirror, and started kissing him senseless. Arthur had yanked off his own clothes and Merlin found himself being laid down on the linoleum (it was disgusting. Arthur had _no_ game). Since Arthur hadn’t even been with one girl at this point he hadn’t known what to do really, so he’d tried to blindly aim and stick. Merlin had freaked out and punched him in the face. They’d froze for a few seconds, but the spell had broken as blood dripped from Arthur’s nose and landed with a small splat in between Merlin’s nipples. Both stared at the dot, then looked to each other and began to howl with laughter. They hadn’t stopped until one of Sear’s workers popped her head in and said she was calling the cops. They’d changed almost as fast as Arthur had stripped, and then bolted toward the crowded food court. They were back to being best friends after that, and haven’t mentioned the time Arthur tried to rape Merlin ever. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” Arthur’s voice suddenly beside him pulled Merlin from his staring contest with the fire. 

Merlin looked down at the bottle and smiled. “You know me,” he said. 

Arthur plopped down in the dirt next to Merlin, choosing to sit a little closer to the fire pit than Merlin and Gwen had, and Merlin watched closely as the flames flickered in Arthur’s blue eyes. Lance was walking up suddenly, and sat next to Gwen. He handed her a beer. 

“Arthur,” Merlin growled and hit Arthur’s shoulder with the whiskey bottle, “why can’t you be nice like Lance . . . maybe I wanted a beer.” 

Arthur snorted. “Merlin, you’re not even on your fifth shot yet. I thought you would consider it rude if I handed you anything that’s less than 80 proof.” 

Merlin smiled, because yeah . . . he would have, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want a beer to chase his whiskey with, which is the only acceptable chaser in Merlin’s book. Arthur hates Merlin’s _book_ , which also includes stupid rules like the only beer that tastes good is the kind that taste like water (Merlin’s favorite is Pabst Blue Ribbon. Ugh). Arthur’s a beer fanatic though, and likes beer that tastes like cold piss and ground up wheat (per Merlin, that is). 

“Trampoline?” Arthur asked, looking up at Merlin even though he was addressing the whole group, but nobody got mad because this was Arthur’s house and if it’s not okay with Merlin than it’s plain not okay (yeah, really doesn’t make much sense, but after being around Merlin and Arthur for five years, Lance has come to terms with the drill). 

Merlin nodded, tucked his whiskey to his chest, and made his way over to the trampoline. Smoking on the bouncy surface is one of Merlin’s favorite things to do. The sky tonight was especially starry. Lying back, Merlin watched the airplanes, sipped his bottle, and waited contently for the spliff to be passed his way. Everybody else took their normal positions on the circular space. Gwen sat Indian style and Lance laid his head in her lap. Arthur sprawled a few feet away from Merlin and watched him fondle his floppy earlobes. The holes in Merlin’s ears may have started out as a small bid for Arthur’s attention, but five years later and stretched around two inch plugs they were a large bid for all the attention he could get (“oh, yeah? And what do you call that hair, Fabio?” Merlin usually spits out his reply with reddening cheeks).

“Did you guys hear Sophie had her baby?” Gwen asked. 

Merlin suddenly had the burning paper in his hands and was very happy, because it was just what he needed to set this whiskey off, not thoughts about Short Skank Sophie. He answered Gwen anyway; he knew she was talking to him (because Lance and Arthur could really care less). “Um, no, I didn’t see that. Good for her,” he claimed. 

“Good for her?” Lance snorted, lifting his head from Gwen’s lap to scrutinize Merlin. “No ‘it’s probably a devil child?’ or no ‘good now someone can kick her ass?’” 

Merlin and Gwen both laughed, but he really didn’t hate her (that much) so he replied, “dude, I don’t hate her. She’s alright I guess.” 

Lance thought that was hilarious because, well, “you poured a whole can of Mountain Dew on her head!” 

Yes. Merlin had done that, but the chick had bloody deserved it. She’d tried to have Arthur kick Merlin out of a kegger in Arthur’s backyard. Merlin had basically lived at Arthur’s house for two years and hadn’t been about to let some Stupid Short Skank get him kicked out. Nevertheless, since he’d decided to “over-react” by drenching the chick in soda, Arthur had kicked him out. Per Merlin, that’s the reason they’d stopped talking to each other for so long. If you ask Arthur, then it has more to do with what happened the next day; when Merlin snuck in through a window to destroy Arthur’s room, piss on his bed, and spray paint YOU’RE A FUCKING COCK-LICKER on the wall (it hadn’t been like it was _really_ that big of a deal though, as Arthur’s wall had already been covered in spray paint!). It had been a huge deal to Arthur though, because Merlin had written that Arthur was the queer one! Um, hello? Merlin had been the one who was secretly (not so secretly) doing the dirty with this random punk kid in their gym class named Gwaine. And Arthur was the flamer? No. Didn’t think so. 

You don’t want to be the one who gets Merlin started on the Gwaine business, okay? If he’d wanted to have sex with a boy who hadn’t wanted anybody to know they’d done it, then he was damn well allowed to. Besides, it had been Arthur’s fault that Merlin and Gwaine did it in the first place. You see, Arthur, from the age of thirteen to around sixteen, had a bad habit of disappearing for days at a time when he would party without Merlin (who actually had parents that wanted him home sometimes). Whether Arthur had gotten himself stranded with Percy at some random party house on the West side, decided it would be a good idea to take off with Leo to Ohio without letting Merlin know where he’d be, or did too much GHB and almost died in a bathtub for two days. Whatever the reason, Arthur would sometimes disappear longer than expected, and Merlin would be left to his own devices. Which had usually included him and Gwaine making a giant tarp slip and slide, deciding to try shrooms together, or eating endless nachos and practicing jiu-jitsu. Two guys who both like stiff ones and hang out all the time can only go so long without breaking. 

So, one day when they’d been wrestling on the floor, Merlin had found himself straddled by Gwaine, out of breath, staring sappily into each other’s eyes and well . . . you can guess what had happened after that. Then, of course, it’d happened a lot after that, because Merlin had needed to get laid and Gwaine had been easy. They had never been _boyfriends_ though, even if Arthur sometimes likes to dramatize Merlin into a secret lover trapped in a horrid affair that had left him heartbroken. 

“Well, she deserved it,” Merlin announced finally. “If only I’d been born a girl, then I would have given the smack down to Short Stumpy Slut.” 

“You are a girl, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur cut in. “You could have beat her ass and the police would have laughed at her and been like ‘oh honey, I think you have it wrong.’” Arthur threw a stick at him and Gwen snorted out a laugh.

The next morning, Morgause’s dreadful voice rang through the curtain that blocked Arthur’s room off from the rest of the basement, and woke them up to pulsing hangovers. 

“What’s up, fags?!” she screeched. Merlin groaned, shifting about as he realized he’d fallen asleep in a dreadful position on their _Big Lots_ bought futon. After five months of the wear-and-tear of two fully grown boys sleeping on it, the pathetic mattress was less cotton filled, and more metal bars and saggy cloth covering. Eventually Merlin gave up and draped himself on top of Arthur’s wider form. Although, removing himself from his balled-up position caused Merlin’s feet to hang off the end. He accepted the compromise with a defeated sigh. 

Morgause is Arthur’s mother and a crack whore. No, literally, she smokes crack and sucks ‘em for money. Hence why Arthur had always lived with his aunt, and why it’s normal for Morgause to wake them up with obscenities at six in the morning on a Sunday. Merlin doesn’t mind her habits though, because every time he drives her to the West side to get somebody off he gets sixty dollars in gas (and he doesn’t even have to get out of the car). She’s still dreadful when she’s been drinking and smoking all night. 

On one of the first New Year’s Eves they’d spent as friends, Merlin and Arthur had decided to eat acid. Arthur had taken nine hits and Merlin took five, so they were both pretty much losing their freaking minds as the night proceeded. Although Arthur had really started to scare Merlin—he’d been walking around in triangles and conversing with himself. So, Merlin—being the intelligent fifteen-year-old he’d been—had the bright idea to call Morgause and ask her to come. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you what he’d been thinking. Of course, she had been belligerent, it being the new year – her being a huge drunk, and she’d come in shouting, demanding that Arthur leave with her. Merlin had quickly come to his senses then (because no person who ate nine hits from a sheet of LSD that had Albert Hoffman’s face printed on it should be leaving their safe environment inside and going out in the world; that’s just not smart, kids) and told Morgause to leave. She freaked out, yelling about how Arthur was her son and Merlin didn’t have any choice in the matter. She proceeded to chuck a half-gallon of Fireball at Merlin’s head. Merlin may or may not have shoved her out the door and caused her to fall down two flights of steps. Then totally forgot what had happened, because the walls were too distracting as they morphed with the rainbow Christmas lights strung about, and made Merlin think he’d been in a geometric rain forest (it hadn’t helped that Leo’s apartment housed a reptile habitat, and Leo kept loudly shouting back and forth with Arthur “Chameleon!”). 

Luckily, Morgause had been so drunk she hadn’t even remembered what had happened the next morning. Besides, that was hardly the worst that had ever happened to her. One time Merlin had watched Morgause run her ex-boyfriend’s truck into a tree, causing her to completely snap her wrist bone. Morgause had gotten out of the truck, punched her broken wrist into the wrecked metal, and then proceeded to flop it about for two days before going to the hospital. She may be a drunk, delusional drug addict, but she’s also as radical as Chuck Norris. 

“Go the fuck away.” Arthur was finally awake enough to groan as Morgause stumbled through the curtain and presented herself to the room; her hair matted, eyes dilated, searching the floor (for bits of crack probably). 

“Merlin!” she said, completely ignoring Arthur, “there’s my favorite son-in-law, can I bum a cigarette?” 

“No,” Merlin replied flatly, causing Morgause to pout. “Go the fuck away.” 

“Where the hell are all your pills, Morgause?” Cendred (her latest man-child boyfriend) yelled from the room over. Only, it was not even a room, it was just blocked off with a bunch of blankets, so there was no need to shout. 

“I just ate them! You sat there and watched me!” Morgause yelled back. 

“Well, this is going to be a fun fucking day,” Merlin mumbled to Arthur, rolling his sleep crusted eyes. 

After dealing with a belligerent Morgause for a few hours, Merlin found himself sitting on the floor at Gwen and Lance’s place. Gwen was crocheting like the old woman she is, while Merlin drank Old Grandad out of a coffee cup like the drunk he is. 

"You know The Godfather’s on tonight? I saw it earlier . . . I wonder if part two has started yet?" Gwen asked suddenly. 

"Why do you love mobster movies so much?" Merlin returned. 

"I don't know." Gwen blushed, clearly knowing quite more than she's telling. "I guess that's just my thing. I would love to marry into to the mob, but . . . I'm not Italian." 

She looked so destroyed and Merlin wanted to magic her Italian pronto. Luckily the lovely Gwen is not only pretty but also wonderfully pleasant in general, and bounced back quickly, whispering, "I may also have a dear crush on Tony Soprano, and all those like him . . . you know, Lance is part Italian." 

Merlin giggled at her and Gwen’s blush reddened. 

A few minutes later, Arthur came down to get a beer from the fridge and tried to steal Merlin's phone. Merlin protested and sent him on his merry way. Arthur mocked Merlin from the stairs, saying something about his hair. 

Merlin groaned once Arthur disappeared. "I really do hate it,” Merlin claimed. “I wish it would like, do something. Grow or like, cut itself off."

Gwen laughed. "It is a bit spikey . . . I haven't seen it this out of control since you first dreaded it. How long has it been again?"

"It's Arthur’s doing," Merlin pointed out for the thousandth time that week. "He forbade me to cut them off. That prat. Oh, and six months now."

Somehow, they got on the subject of nail care, and Gwen decided that she was going to paint hers in this beautiful white color that her boss had given her. Merlin declined her offer when she asked if he wanted his done. Claiming he didn't have the patience for drying. However, as Gwen pulled out the dazzling little bottle, Merlin was very tempted. He only resisted the urge because he knew Arthur would have a hay day if Merlin had sparkly nails for a week. 

He checked his phone instead.

“Holy fucking shit,” Merlin gasped, a few minutes into scrolling through his timeline. “I knew it! I fucking called it! Ha!”

“What?” Gwen asked, already leaning over to check what Merlin was looking at.

“No fucking way!” Gwen squeaked once she’d read. “You fucking called it!”

Arthur popped his head down from upstairs to ask what the screaming was all about. 

“I fucking called it!” Merlin announced again. “Edwin Muirden just came the fuck out!”

Merlin smirked and started planning his seduction . . . 

A few weeks later, Edwin pulled his black Impala into the drive he’d been slowly getting used to, and around the horseshoe path.

Merlin darted outside before Edwin could even text him. The slender man was on time like always. Sliding into the passenger, Merlin smiled, and then frowned as he realized Edwin had shut the car off. 

“What?” Merlin asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“I was just thinking that I, um, I don’t know . . . should go inside? Meet your parents?” Edwin knew that Merlin was in college but didn’t live on campus. He had assumed Merlin was ashamed he still lived with his parents and that’s why he’d never invited Edwin inside.

Merlin let out a heavy breath, and the smile creeped back, transforming his long face. Edwin was turning out to be just about perfect. “Um, yeah. I guess, but we’ll have to drive there then. I don’t even know if anyone’s there right now—“ 

“Um.” Edwin showed his confusion. He’d never picked Merlin up anywhere else, and this was their seventh date. “Don’t you live here, Merlin?” 

“No. Not really,” Merlin shrugged. “This is my best friend’s place.” 

So, Edwin ended up driving to a street filled with huge mansions and meeting Merlin’s real parents. They were great, but he was still confused about the other house. 

The next time Edwin pulled into the horseshoe drive, Merlin didn’t rush out. Edwin saw it as blessing, and decided to knock on the front door of Merlin’s “best friend’s place.” He heard some soft child-like voices, and an older male voice screaming out orders to not answer if it’s the police. There were giggles and the click of a lock, then the door swung open to reveal a small girl with long black curls. 

“Hello,” Edwin greeted. 

She merely glared at him. “What do you want?” 

“Um. I’m here to pick up Merlin?” 

The child’s face lit up, and she instantly pulled him by the arm and into the house while she praised Merlin in a rushed tone. She told Edwin that she was Morgana, Merlin’s favorite. They quickly passed up the front room that was cluttered with boxes, and housed one of the biggest televisions Edwin had ever seen. The thing must have been like fifty inches. Two other kids were lounging on a threadbare couch, playing Minecraft. 

She dragged him through the kitchen next. Dirty pots and pans and silverware rested on every surface. Edwin tried to ignore the mess, but it was hard with all the flies buzzing around. Then Edwin noticed the fly strips, sticky with poison, that hung about in every corner already covered in flies. The kitchen floor was torn up in places, revealing the plywood, and light from the basement flooded through the cracks; along with raised voices that Edwin couldn’t quite make out. To the right, the bathroom door suddenly opened and spilled out a loud cloud of cigarette smoke; followed by a man whose whole chest and arms were covered in prison tattoos. Luckily, Edwin was pulled forward by Morgana before conversation could ensue. 

Edwin next found himself shuffled through a dining room area with lots of expensive looking objects, including a dust-covered chandelier hanging in the center. The floor to the room was cluttered, and Edwin almost missed that there was carpet in this area of the house. A messy sleeping pallet made up of blankets laid in the far corner. As the child urged them on, they were forced to climb over a mountain of clothes piled higher than his head. Soon they met with a set of steep stairs. Each step down led way to new smells, and Edwin couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. Mold. Shit. Cats. Trash. Ammonia. 

It was dark and damp when they reached the bottom, and random sounds generated from all around. Only one yellow light worked, bare in the socket, and Edwin searched all around in the dimness. The shadowy areas seemed to be filled with boxes and trash and broken Christmas décor. None of the walls or ceilings were finished, just wooden, bare, and cool grey. The floors were simple dirty and cracked cement. 

Edwin next saw a fast leaking pipe above as it dripped into an over filled bucket and spilled out to a puddle on the floor. Morgana gracefully hopped over the mess and pursued forward. They came to a stop at a cheetah print blanket, ripped in a few places, that seemed to act as a wall. Time momentarily slowed down for Edwin as he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. Maybe he shouldn’t have invaded Merlin’s privacy. Edwin could admit that because of Merlin’s appearance, his rich, sophisticated parents had taken Edwin by surprise. It seemed the other was full of enigmas he was unwilling to explain. Why Merlin chose to spend most of his time in this dump instead of the mansion he’d grown up in was certainly another mystery that Edwin wasn't supposed to solve yet. 

The child pulled the blanket back and Edwin was forced to confront whatever he’d started. A high-pitched squeak of, “Buddy! You nasty boy! Put on some clothes!” and a much deeper growl of, “you little bitch! Get the fuck upstairs!” at about the same time, and the child sprinted away snickering, with small hands covering her eyes. 

Edwin, now alone and unnoticed, stared at his boyfriend and another guy that if he remembered correctly is named Arthur. Both were naked and dripping wet, yelling at each other. Merlin was cupping himself, shivering and shouting, “give me the freaking boxers, Arthur! Edwin is going to be here any damn second!”

The other man stood shameless and dripping wet. Arms akimbo, he drawled, “then what will I wear, _Mer_ lin?” 

“Do some laundry! I don’t know!” Merlin yelled. “I don’t care!”

Calmly, and with a smirk, the blonde haired one said, “but it’s your turn.”

“It’s always my fucking turn!”

Edwin coughed.

Two sets of eyes were on him at once. The Arthur guy freaked, and grabbed a sword out of nowhere to swing in Edwin’s direction. Merlin squeaked and used the distraction to grab the boxers out of the other’s hand. He slid them on quickly.

“Edwin,” Merlin greeted with a shy smile. They’ve yet to make it beyond kissing, and Merlin didn’t want the first-time Edwin to see him naked to be like this. Shriveled and cold, in an argument with Arthur. Merlin grabbed the sword from his friend’s hand and placed it back on a rack. 

The muscular sword bearer found his smirk again, still completely shame free even weaponless. “So, you’re Edwin,” he stated more than asked. 

“Yes,” Merlin answered as he began to dig through a huge pile of clothes. “Edwin, Arthur . . . Arthur, Edwin.”

The still naked Arthur stalked over offering a handshake. “Great to finally meet you,” he said.

Edwin gulped down the suddenly hot air. He took the offered greeting – jealous and turned on at the same time. “Um. Hi.”

In contrast to Merlin, Arthur had an athletic body made for football or basketball. Although, unlike Edwin, Arthur had never played any sports while they were in school. At least that Edwin knew about.

As Merlin continued trying to find suitable clothes, Arthur offered Edwin a spot on a small love seat without any cushions. Edwin took it. Arthur fell on to the futon across from Edwin, sprawling out as per usual. He caught Edwin off guard by announcing, “you can check me out if you want—” Edwin swallowed thickly again “—it’s exactly what _Mer_ lin deserves for not doing the laundry.”

All Merlin did was snort and say, “it’s not my fault you use all your clothes as cum rags. It’s called a tissue!” 

Once Merlin finally dressed, he crossed the room and straddled Edwin’s thighs. He hoped his terrific body could somewhat make up for his best friend’s terrible behavior. After all, if Edwin couldn’t learn to deal with Arthur, then he and Merlin wouldn’t work out in the long run. Edwin opened his mouth, but Merlin cut him off with a kiss that soon turned heated and fierce. Just as Merlin’s began to grind down on the body beneath him, he was stopped by a noise he’d never thought he’d hear. Had Arthur just moaned?

Merlin broke the kiss and turned to Arthur with wide eyes, stuttering out, “what the hell, Arthur?”

“Oh God,” Arthur replied, his face white as a sheet. “I need to get out of here, you’re rubbing off on me.”

Arthur fled his own room . . . naked. 

It wasn’t too long after that day when Merlin started to get bored with his new relationship. Of course, not being a regular guy, Merlin couldn’t just admit he was bored and drop the sorry sucker. No, first he had to whine to Arthur for days about some made up problem. 

“I want to fight, Arthur!” was Merlin’s excuse this time. 

Arthur let out a long-suffering sigh, and prayed to a higher power to give him strength. All Arthur really wanted to do was give Merlin the fight he claimed to want just to prove (yet again unsuccessfully) that Merlin was totally a female. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Arthur pointed out instead.

“I’m just saying, I bet if I called him right now and told him I cheated on him he wouldn’t even care!”

“That’s pretty fucked . . .” Arthur did understand wanting passion. Perhaps Merlin was on to something this time, but no. No one would let cheating slide without a fight, Arthur reasoned. “I bet you Edwin will come over here and try to find out the truth about your fake cheating, at least.”

Merlin looked doubtful. “I’m doing it.”

Ten minutes later Merlin was back in the basement complaining to Arthur. “Told you,” he growled. “The jerk just said ‘sorry, man, but I’m gonna have to break up with you.’”

“Who cares? He’s a faggot.”

“Shut up, Arthur! Jesus Christ! Your ignorance isn’t helping!”

“What?! I meant it in the stupid way!”

Merlin turned away with a huff, and angrily picked up Arthur’s last Now and Later off the coffee table and tore it open. Merlin popped the candy in his mouth and let the discarded wrapper flutter to the floor as he explained, “I know, you thick headed bastard, that’s the whole point. Call me a fag all you want and I wouldn’t give a shit—“

“Pick that up.” Arthur demanded.

“No,” Merlin replied, kicking the wrapper with his foot for emphasis. 

“Merlin, pick up the god damn wrapper, now!” Arthur _really_ demanded this time.

“Screw off! I’m not picking it up,” Merlin declared and was suddenly pushing past Arthur and through the cheetah curtain. “I’m leaving! I’m going to find one of Edwin’s friends to bag. See how the fag likes that!”

“No, you’re really not,” Arthur said as he pulled Merlin none too gently back in the room – not caring if half of the blanket ripped from the nails that held it up and came with him. “Pick it up right the fuck now!”

Merlin kicked the wrapper again while making his escape. It was dark in the basement, but he hastily glided through the constant mess of boxes using his years of experience. He made it to the stairs without tripping and stomped up them. Arthur followed, yelling Angry Arthur Things that just pissed Merlin off more.

Merlin, as usual, was stopped in the kitchen by Agravaine acting like an idiot. He took one look at Merlin and asked, “what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

Merlin kneed him in the crouch and kept moving forward. 

As he crossed the threshold leading outside, his toes instantly froze, because he’d forgotten to put his shoes on. (“Of course, have you ever remembered shoes, _Mer_ lin?”). Merlin didn’t stop though. He trudged down the slushy wooden steps, across the snow-covered grass, and finally made it to his car. 

Arthur’s body blocked Merlin as he tried to slam the door shut. Arthur smirked down at him and said, “told you, you weren’t going anywhere.”

“Get out of my way, fat ass!”

“No!”

“Fine,” Merlin huffed, hopping out and slithering between Arthur and car. “I’ll shut it!”

Merlin tried pulling Arthur out of the way five unsuccessful times before he finally gave up, claiming, “I’ll just shut you in the door then!”

Merlin proceeded to slam the door closed as hard as he could, causing Arthur to become a pliant sandwich in threshold. Realizing he couldn’t keep Arthur there for very long, Merlin started to kick violently at the door. 

After ten or so kicks, Arthur finally snapped and shoved the door back toward Merlin, yelling, “I’m not letting you go anywhere! It’s raining. It’s freezing. You don’t have any shoes. You’re already a huge slut. And, most of all, Edwin’s a stupid idiot!”

Merlin tried to shove Arthur back, but the stronger body didn’t even flinch. Arthur just kept moving forward, pushing the door out of the way for good and wrapping Merlin in his arms. “I’m serious, _Mer_ lin,” he whispered into Merlin's tensed neck. “His kakis were totally lame and he was completely stupid, because despite your ears being the size of the moon, you’re totally worth fighting for . . . or over . . .” Arthur trailed off with a cough. “Whatever stupid shit you said.”

Merlin snorted into Arthur’s shoulder. “That’s a new one . . . the moon you say?”

Merlin pulled back to look at Arthur, who only rolled his eyes at the question in Merlin’s gaze. Merlin laughed properly then, and held out the grape candy between his teeth. A peace offering.

“You’re still picking that up,” Arthur said halfheartedly before he took the candy from Merlin’s teeth with his own. Arthur knew full well he’d be the one picking up the wrapper.

When they made it back down stairs, Merlin went straight for the liquor. He forwent a glass in favor of taking a few chugs from the bottle. Arthur watched Merlin’s throat work around the harsh liquid before he dropped his gaze. Suddenly, Arthur broke out in sweat as he stared at the purple wrapper lying on the floor. He swallowed and found his mouth dry. Scooping up the thin waxy paper, Arthur paused before chucking it in the waste bin. Instead he did something completely out of character and stuffed it in his pocket like Merlin would have (the sentimental twerp). Merlin didn’t register Arthur’s odd behavior, and couldn’t hear the quickening thump of Arthur’s heart beat even though Arthur swore it was as loud as a cowbell. 

Merlin, Arthur thought, wanting to shout. Mer-lin, he tried again, but the name couldn’t fight past the sudden army of nerves marching through his chest. Nerves like Arthur hadn't felt in years; since he'd stood before an off-white dressing room door with the word Sears printed across it in bulky blue. _Mer_ lin, his brain finally supplied and words erupted like vomit. 

"I love you."

Merlin snorted and looked toward Arthur with an eyebrow raised condescendingly. “I’m fine, Arthur," he sneered, still unaware of the near stroke-like breakdown happening inside his best friend. "Why do you always treat me like this when I—“

Arthur had somehow broke through the barrier and crushed them together. Lips and body melded perfectly until the act caught up with both parties. Arthur reeled back, eyes squeezed shut, and presented Merlin with the side of his face (hopefully he’d avoid a broken nose this time). When no pain came, Arthur cautiously peeked at Merlin, who had frozen with his lips still pursed and arms mid grab. 

“Oh,” Merlin gasped as his mind caught up with reality. He let his arms finish their motion, waited for Arthur to face forward, and pressed their lips together again. 

And, with that kiss . . . none of their problems were solved. Arthur and Merlin still can't be together without coming to blows more often than not. They are still so codependent that their lives fall apart without each other's presence. Arthur’s still straight, and Merlin still thinks Arthur’s a big bag of dicks. Although the kissing solves very little, their life after it is still a million times better.


End file.
